


Aftermath

by HalloweenBae



Category: Law and Order: SVU
Genre: Because they never get talked about, Crying, F/M, Gen, Italian Food, Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sonny Carisi and his feelings, Surprise Kissing, body issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 07:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalloweenBae/pseuds/HalloweenBae
Summary: Sonny helps you get over your trauma.





	1. I Didn't Know

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be a year after “Bad Bitch” and the Nevada relationship. Mike has passed since then, and Sonny is the only one left to help you grieve.

Brown and orange leaves fall as you stare at his tombstone in disbelief. His perfect, smiling face stares back at you under a blue patrol cap in a picture that's already begun to fade. 

"In Memoriam: Sergeant Michael Dodds" 

You hug yourself tighter as a cool breeze blows by, scattering the warm color pallette of leaves around his monument. He looks so different in this picture. 

"He was the best of the best." Sonny walks up next to you and shoves his hands in his pockets.

His fresh clean scent brings back memories of the last time you saw him. Images of him falling asleep at your bedside mix with sharp pains in your abdomen. The sound of him laughing, the warmth of his hands, and the ease of his smile... if only those were the only things you could remember. 

You keep your eyes on Mike. You're afraid that if you turn and look at Sonny, you might start to cry. 

"I didn't know..." You follow suit and put your hands in your jacket pockets. 

"How could you?" His voice is soft. 

"I finally had the courage to contact you... to thank you. It took me a while before I could see your faces again."

Sonny nods and swallows hard. "Understandable." 

"I contacted him first." You sigh and kick a rock. "I tried to contact him first..." You look down at your feet and bite your lip. You remember how quick he was to help you, how strong he was when he picked you up off the ground. 

"I wasn't expecting an obituary." You admit, finally turning to look at him. 

"Neither were we." He sniffs and stares at Mike. "Yeah, see, the Lieu won't talk about it. Neither will Rollins or Fin." He looks at you. His face is painted with regret. 

"How did it happen?" 

"He saved a life... he died a hero's death." He shrugs.

"Yeah, but how did it happen?" Your eyes fill up with tears as you stare him down. 

Sonny looks at the ground before meeting your gaze. His lips twist into a frown. "He got shot," he starts. 

"I don't know if he got stupid, or what happened, but he always played things by the book... always!" He looks up at the sky. "I tried to save him, I gave him my blood, I..." He stares at God, looking for answers in the clouds. 

"Of course you did." You smile for the first time. You imagine Sonny rolling up his sleeve the second Mike needed him to. 

"It wasn't enough." A tear falls down his face. "I was protecting Barba, the Lieu should have been there with him, she shouldn't have left him alone in there, she should have..." he swallows hard and wipes his face.

"Anyways, it doesn't matter anymore." He takes his rosary out of his pocket and places it on the tombstone. He kneels down on one knee and crosses himself. Staring at Mike in silence for a few minutes, he stands up slowly; his knee damp with the earth. 

You don't know what to say. You don't know what to do. You look at Mike's picture and realize that the only person left from your traumatic ordeal is standing in front of you. You realize that this is probably the first time he's talked to anyone about this. That he waited six months for you to be ready before he could even think of reopening this wound. 

"I wrote you a letter." You pull an envelope out of your purse and hand it to him. "It was part of my therapy." 

He turns toward you and takes the envelope. 

'Detective Dominick Carisi, Jr.' in perfect cursive. 

"I wanted to give it to you personally." You look back over at Mike and pull out a second envelope. "To both of you." 

You set the second envelope on the cool wet ground. 

'Sergeant Michael William Dodds' stands loudly in black ink against the white envelope. Flowers, candles, teddy bears, and other trinkets had been beaten down by the weather, but your envelope shines bright. 

Sonny has already started to open his when you walk over and cover his hands with yours. Your hands are dwarfed by his long fingers and wide palms, but he stops. 

"Don't open it until I leave." You whisper, squeezing his hands. 

He nods and puts the letter in his jacket pocket. "Of course." 

You study his grief-stricken face and sigh. Everything about him says comfort to you... warmth, peace, and safety. But you still needed time before you look at him and don't see Nevada's dead body collapsing in front of you. 

"Thank you for saving my life." You stand on your tip toes and kiss him on he cheek. You squeeze his hand one more time before letting go. You turn on your heel and walk to your car, tears streaming down your face.


	2. Scarred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny leans on you.

The past year of your life had changed everything you knew to be true. Your trust in others had dwindled down to nothing. You were suspicious of every stranger on the street that gave you a second glance. What were they like when no one was looking? Were they looking at you? Did they read about you in the papers? Were they old partners of Nevada's looking to seek revenge? Had the police caught all of his associates like they said they had? 

Your therapist told you that is no way to live your life, but you couldn't help it. Countless sessions with her and group therapies made it possible to function again, but only did so much. Tasers and mace were your new best friends, and you wouldn't be caught within ten miles of a night club after dark. You had read hundreds of articles on rapists and murderers, picking apart what they looked for in their victims. 

After your third surgery and reversal of your colostomy bag, you cut your hair short. You quit your job at the hospital and started working at a private practice office from nine to five. You threw away all of your revealing clothes and invested in a colorful sweater collection. Although one of the victims in your group therapy sessions had been raped in a winter coat and fully dressed, you assured yourself that this wardrobe change couldn't hurt. Plus, the modest tops helped to cover up all of the scars Nevada left you with. You don't think you'd ever be able to wear a tank top or sundress again even if you wanted to. 

After you gave him your letter, you made a habit of meeting Sonny every week for coffee. You thought he was just being nice at first, but it turns out he needed you just as much as you needed him. His coworkers seemed perfectly fine not talking about what happened to Mike. They were task-oriented, and put his death completely behind them. Maybe that's what they needed to do to keep going on, but Sonny needed to talk to someone. He needed to know that he wasn't alone. He needed to know he wasn't crazy for being this shaken by the loss of a fellow comrade; by the loss of a friend. Sure, he had talked to his priest about it at confession, but he didn't know Mike. He wasn't rescued from the hands of death by Mike, or carried into the hospital by him. Sonny's priest could only do so much. 

Your weekly coffee turned into lunch, which often led to dinner. You spent almost every day with him, and you got to know the lines of his face and the quirks of his smile. You poured yourself into him, more than you had at any therapy session. The softness of his face no longer reminded you of your trauma. The sound of his voice no longer rang harsh in your ears, bringing back those dreadful memories. His presence brought you peace, serenity, and a little bit of excitement. Being that understood by someone is incredibly rare, and you looked forward to that feeling every day. 

________________ 

The trees are barren against the graying night as the two of you walk closer to your apartment. You weave your arm around his and pull him close as the cold of December threatens to chill your bones. 

"That was the best lasagna I've ever had." You say as your breath escapes you in a cold white smoke. 

"Yeah, well, it isn't called Little Italy for nothin', but, between you and me..." he looks around the neighborhood as if someone is watching him. He leans in close to you, the microscopic blues and greens in his eyes shining bright. "My moms' is a lot better." 

You smile and walk up the steps to your door, still holding onto him for warmth. "I bet it is." You shiver as you dig in your purse for your keys. 

"I'll have to make it for you sometime; the best you'll ever have." He let's go of you so you can dig deeper into your purse. 

You find your keys and turn it into the lock, pushing your door open. You look back and nod for him to come in behind you. "You'd cook for me?" 

"Whatever you want." He follows you in and locks the door behind him. "I'm not kidding, y/n, I love to cook, it would be no problem at all. I cook for Rollins all the time." He takes his coat and scarf off, hanging them up on your coat rack. 

"You do?" You whisper, taking off your winter coat and setting it on the chair. Maybe he is just being nice. If he cooks for her 'all the time', maybe you aren't that special to him after all. Maybe he is just using you to get over Mike, and nothing else. 

"I only cook for people I really like." He winks at you and shatters your insecurities. 

"Yeah?" You smile and stare at him, not knowing what to say or do. If you had met him before Nevada, you would have kissed him right now. Three months of dating was the longest you've waited to be intimate with someone, but you aren't sure if that's what this is. You don't want to kiss him and get rejected. You don't want to sully the only positive relationship in your life right now. 

"Yeah," Sonny tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and drops his hand to your shoulder. His thumb brushes the tiny hairs on your neck before he leans in to kiss you.

You close your eyes and let his flesh touch yours. His lips are full and smooth, gently pressing against yours as his hand slides down your arm. You smile against him and place your hand on his cheek. You pull him into you and open your mouth to kiss him back. You turn your head to get a better angle and feel his tongue brush against yours. He tastes even better than you thought he would. 

You run your hand up his cheek and into his perfectly coiffed hair. The texture of the product keeping it in place sticks to your fingers as he backs you up against the wall. The warmth of his body against yours almost makes you forget how cold it was outside a moment ago. You sigh as he kisses your lips and chin, holding your hand as he makes his way down your neck. 

Your neck..your shoulder! Your chest! Your stomach! You're covered in scars; not only from Nevada, but from all of the other surgeries. You couldn't let Sonny see you like this... 

You place your hand on his chest and gently push him off.

His brows knit in the middle of his forehead. "Too fast?" He's confused. 

"No," you sigh and look at your feet. "It was perfect." You look up at him. "You're perfect, I just... I'm..." You take in a deep breath. "I haven't been with anyone since the accident, and I have all of these scars now..."

He smiles and squeezes your hand. "You've told me about your scars, y/n." He kisses you again. "They don't make me want to be with you any less." 

You roll your eyes. "You haven't seen them yet." 

"Whenever you're ready to show me," He takes your face in his hands and kisses your forehead. "I'll be here."


End file.
